


Broken Promises

by Denyce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denyce/pseuds/Denyce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night the hell hounds came to collect Dean, together behind his back, Sam and Bobby came up with a plan to save Dean and it worked -sorta. Determined to keep his promise, Sam has to figure out a way to save Dean's soul from the pit of hell or lose his brother all over again, only this time it'd be for forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: AU post S3, angst, soul-bonding, non-con/rape, glimpse of hell, mainly in Sam's POV. 
> 
> The bunny hit shortly after season 3 and I finally started it a couple of years ago however it started to wallow in angst that quickly clashed with my RL angst, making it difficult to finish. I eventually returned to it and finally hit a stride close to finishing. As the universe does I was hit with more RL tragedy however my muse allowed me to finish. A big THANKS to friends, my beta, my artist and the wincest bigbang comm for your patience. I will post this to my LJ and LJ comms as soon as I have internet (instead of the intermittent free internet that allowed me to post here.) Note I tried posting to LJ, its taken longer since I'm forced to use my laptop and post directly to LJ, and of course LJ is driving me insane and isn't running smoothly. Saturday AT&T is coming out, so I'll try again once I can use my desktop with semagic ;)

“No!” The word was painfully retched from his throat. It didn’t matter how many times he saw Dean die, or held his lifeless body; the dead weight of Dean in his arms hurt, cutting him deeper each time, until Sam couldn’t breathe. This time it was different, worse. There was no waking up from this: no starting the day over again, no Trickster. Sam’s breath hitched before coming in shallow pants as he zeroed in on Dean's eyes, open and unseeing. Pain spread throughout Sam’s body and he stumbled over his words as he cried out, “No, Dean…” He didn’t bother to stop the tears and cursed himself that he hadn’t stopped the deal. He had promised Dean, and he had failed.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

“Sam?” 

Sam heard Bobby but couldn’t turn around or respond. He didn’t want to face Bobby, and see the anguish, pity, sorrow, or accusation that would be reflected in his eyes. 

“Sam…” 

He felt Bobby jostle him, and try to pull Dean away from him, but Sam held on, frantically shaking his head refusing to let go. 

“Damn it, Sam!”

He felt a grip in his hair as Bobby brutally yanked, forcing him to look up, away from Dean. “God damn it, _boy_ , open your eyes! It worked! It’s working, he’s alive! Dean’s alive.”

Barely registering Bobby’s jumbled words, Sam stilled, afraid to move even though he had to know. Painfully slow, his fingers slid up under Dean’s jaw until he came to where a pulse point would be. He felt nothing.

He shook his head, his eyes clamped shut. 

His voice hard as Bobby spoke, “It’s shallow, but there… it’s there. Dean’s breathing.” One hand fastened over his shoulder, holding him in place, even as Bobby grabbed and squeezed his jaw hard with the other. “Sam, look at me.” 

Slowly Sam opened his eyes and deadlocked with Bobby’s, surprised when he saw the worry and determination that was fixated on him. This time Bobby talked slower, enunciating like Sam was six years old and didn’t understand. “It worked! They got his soul, but we got his body. We got to bandage him up and get the hell out of here _now_. Have to get _Dean safe_ before they realize _he’s not physically dead_ —You understand me?”

Confused, Sam looked down at Dean, his palm cradling Dean’s face. His brother’s eyes were still open, with a look that reflected Dean’s last thoughts: terror, disbelief, and sorrow.

That was Sam’s fault. He had put that look on Dean’s face, had promised Dean he’d save him and he didn’t. 

Bobby was wrong; Dean was dead. 

Gently, Sam brushed his fingers over Dean’s face, closing his eyes before he moved just enough to allow Bobby in closer. Bobby took over, moving fast and efficiently, as he started to clean and dress Dean’s wounds. 

Sam thought it was pointless; he didn’t believe Bobby. But Bobby was right about one thing—they needed to get out of there. If that meant he had to let Bobby bandage up Dean’s body? Then he’d allow it. He didn’t see the point of losing time arguing. Once Bobby finished, Sam bent down, gently lifted Dean into his arms and stood.

~*~*~*~

Sam stayed focused after he picked up Dean and made his way toward the car, Bobby following closely behind him. In a roundabout, one-sided way, they argued. Bobby didn’t want him to drive and suggested they could come back for the Impala and allow the family that had survived Lilith to keep it hidden. 

Sam shook his head, flatly dismissing the idea. To leave the Impala behind—it would have been like leaving Dean behind: something he’d never consider. Bobby might not understand, but Sam did, knew Dean would kill him if he left his baby behind. Sam adjusted his hold on Dean and made it obvious that the answer was no when he opened the car door, and gently laid Dean out in the backseat.

Sam purposely ignored Bobby’s offer to drive and got in the car, started the engine, and waited.

In the end, Bobby was left cursing the Winchester name as he stomped off to his own truck and climbed in.

The drive back was uneventful after Sam had insisted on driving straight through. Not that he actually told Bobby that, but Bobby quickly got the message when Sam refused to stop for anything other than to fill up on gas. 

By the time he pulled into the junkyard, it was close to noon. Sam cut the engine and just sat there staring out of the window, afraid to look behind and see Dean’s body. The heat from the afternoon sun quickly magnified in the confined space, enough so that sweat started to form on his brow. Sam wondered if sitting there waiting for Bobby was the greatest plan, not with a dead… he couldn’t finish the thought. 

Needing a distraction, Sam squeezed the handle and rolled his window down breathing in the cooler air.

It didn’t help. Sam sat there suddenly nervous and not sure of what he was supposed to do. Even after everything with the Trickster, remembering the details of each death—not once had it gotten easier.

However, it was that last time, when Sam didn’t wake up to repeat the day and had held Dean’s lifeless body in his arms, that taunted his dreams. He’d felt the wetness when Dean’s blood pooled and saturated his clothes. He had waited but the Trickster didn’t come, didn’t fix it, forcing Sam to go on without Dean. Forced him to bury his brother. For six months the only thing that kept him going was hunting down the _sonofabitch_. 

Sam couldn’t shake the memory. Though the pain had eased a fraction when he got Dean back—but now he had no one to turn to, no Trickster to save Dean from the pit of Hell. 

Slowly, Sam replayed Bobby’s words, ‘He’s alive! Dean’s alive’, but Sam refused to listen and shook his head, closing his eyes and trying to shut off Bobby’s voice. Instead, Bobby’s voice boomed inside his mind. ‘God damn it, _boy_ , open your eyes! It worked! It’s working, he’s alive! Dean’s alive.’

Unable to stop himself, Sam opened his eyes to chance a glance at Dean in the rearview mirror, terrified that it really had only been Bobby’s wishful thinking. 

Dean was right where Sam left him, stretched out on the back seat, staring up at nothing. It took Sam a moment to notice if anything was different. He gawked at Dean’s ridiculously long lashes… He could have sworn Dean’s eyes had been closed.

Long minutes passed before Sam’s gaze caught the movement—Dean blinked.

“Dean?” Sam swallowed hard then fumbled with his door, and stepped out to open the back door.

Sam crouched down and climbed in next to Dean, and called out again, “Dean?” Sam held his breath, waiting, but Dean didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge Sam in any way. Then Sam saw it—Dean blinked again. Bobby was right, it’d worked. Dean was alive.

In a rush Sam grabbed Dean, crushing his body to his chest, his body shaking in relief.

Finally Sam exhaled and let Dean go as he scrambled out of the car. He had to get Dean inside. Gently, Sam maneuvered his brother from the backseat. He adjusted his grip and moved toward the house. 

Sam’s heart beat faster as he felt the warmth of Dean’s body; he had expected Dean to be stiff and cold as rigor mortis set in. He was in awe that they had done it, and saved Dean. 

After a year of putting up with Dean’s frantic worry that doing anything would somehow rescind his deal, it was clear to both of them that any research regarding the deal they had to keep from Dean. Before going to New Harmony, he and Bobby came up with a backup plan. It was a long shot, a spell that Bobby had discovered. The spell was activated and hung in wait around Dean’s neck in the form of his charm. At the time, it seemed like their only alternative until they could come up with something better; it was a harmless way to bide for more time. In essence, the spell protected Dean’s body from being pulled into final death, yet it allowed the contract to be fulfilled. Up until they had to leave they were still searching for a way to prevent the crossroad demon from claiming Dean’s soul. 

It was the only spell they had come across that wouldn’t technically break the deal or his promise to Dean that he wouldn’t interfere to stop the deal, a promise he hated. Not that Sam wanted to die, and he had told Dean that, but facing Dean now, like this -again- Sam waivered. The truth was he’d rather be dead. Remembering all too clearly what his life had been without Dean—empty and lonely.

Sam softly kicked open the bedroom door, then shifted and shuffled in sideways as he made his way toward the bed, and gently settled Dean down in what was their old room. 

Sam barely remembered when they actually met Bobby, but when they had, the bedroom was just an empty spare room. He knows they went there because Dad had been hurt. Both Pastor Jim and Caleb told their Dad that Bobby could be trusted, to go to him if John needed help. They were right. It wasn’t long after that before they started showing up on Bobby’s door step on a semi-regular basis. That same year, Bobby had surprised them with bunk beds. Then for years afterward, Dean always claimed the top, teasing that if Sam ever had an _accident_ he wasn’t going to be the one to get a midnight shower. That usually started their roughhousing until Dad or Bobby put a stop to it. Years later, as they got bigger, Bobby unstacked and converted the beds into the twin beds as it stood now. 

The elation he felt was quickly wearing off as Sam stepped back and looked down at his brother. His shoulders shook under the weight of emotions; he had seen Dean like this too many times.

Even recognizing that their plan worked did nothing to sooth the ache that his failure had only saved Dean’s body. Staring down into Dean’s face, Sam saw the body as it was – nothing more than an empty shell. Everything else -- his soul, everything that defined Dean, made him who he was, his soul, that aspect of Dean -- was gone. But Bobby was right, he was alive, and Sam would have to focus on that. 

It was a last minute stroke of luck finding and using that particular spell; a gamble that had paid off. 

At the time, when they faced Lilith, he hadn’t believed it had worked, and had watched helplessly as Dean was ravaged by invisible hellhounds. He saw the blood pooling, believed they were both going to die. It would end the way Dean had wanted; together they’d go out fighting. 

However, something happened, the impossible. Something had stopped Lilith, or if what Ruby had hinted at was true and he had somehow pulled it off, he stopped Lilith. Though it didn’t really matter, he still failed Dean when the hellhounds had gotten to him. He had scrambled over to Dean’s side and it was the expression on Dean’s face that devastated Sam. His eyes were open, lifeless, full of terror – it was too much. It left Sam with no doubt of how badly he let Dean down. 

Desperately, Sam clutched Dean’s hand, squeezing. Not that Sam really gives a shit about the why or how, only that the spell worked. Now he has time to concentrate, to find a way to bring Dean back. For that he was grateful, and squeezed Dean’s hand again.

That was also the one problem, time. Although he could focus on research, his biggest concern was exactly how much time they had before Dean lost his sanity. The answer was only a guess. One no one could answer with any certainty. The spell didn’t offer any specifics, especially regarding hell, but Bobby had speculated they only had a small window. That it was a gamble, warning them if they wait too long what they’d bring back wouldn’t be Dean. Glancing at the shell that was his brother, Sam knew, he couldn’t allow Dean to stay like this nor could he leave him trapped in Hell. There was no choice; he had to find a way to free Dean’s soul from Hell. 

At least this time Dean wasn’t here to force a promise Sam knew he’d no longer keep. Besides, the only promise Sam cared about now was the one he made to himself, that he’d do whatever it took to save Dean, and that was the only one he was determined to keep. Swearing that even if it cost Sam his life, he was going to succeed—he had to.

*~*~*~*

Swallowing, Sam finally let go of Dean’s hand when he noticed the blood soaking through the bandages covering Dean’s chest. Momentarily startled by the sight, Sam tried to focus, shaking his head in order to clear it. Slowly Sam stood, panic setting in as he rushed to the bathroom, grabbing the first-aid kit under the sink. Then he grabbed both a towel and a washcloth, and when he spotted a bowl, he filled it up with warm water.

Kneeling at Dean’s side and putting the items he’d need on the night stand, Sam shifted his arm under Dean’s head and shoulders as he lifted his brother off the bed to take off the remnants of the shredded shirt, throwing it to the side, once Dean’s arms were free.

Dean just laid there, unfazed.

Despite his nervousness, Sam reached out to undo the bandage, but had to stop when he touched it, his fingers shaking uncontrollably.

Emotionally distraught Sam pulled back, his body trembling and inhaled deeply. He clenched his hand into a tight fist, berating himself on failing such a simple task. He tried to center himself to do what needed to be done, something he had done for years, simply tend to Dean’s wounds. Like he was taught and had done for both his brother and father just as they had always tended to his injuries over the years. 

Subsequently, a memory surfaced and Sam heard his father’s gravelly voice: _Sammy it’s okay, you don’t have to do more than the basics. But son if you intend to use a needle again, you need a firm hand. Otherwise you’ll do more harm than good._

At the time, he was thirteen and his father was stitching up the cut on Dean’s shoulder. It was the same one he had tried to stitch up earlier that night but on the second pass, between his hands shaking and the sweat; Sam slipped and accidently jabbed the needle deeply in Dean’s shoulder. Dean jumped, blurting out a string of curses and though he told Sam he wasn’t mad, he had refused to allow Sam to finish when he was obviously still shaking. The needle was still imbedded with the thread dangling when Dad came back with the food. Instead of being angry like Sam had expected, Dad left the food on the table and just handed Dean a bottle of Jack to sip while he cleaned and finished what Sam had started. 

Later while Dean slept, Dad sat him down and poured Sam a single shot and pushed it toward him. _Here._ Sam left it on the table, staring at it from under his bangs. _Go ahead, drink it._ While Dad droned on offering advice he didn’t want to hear. _Son, you’re just going to have to work on how to steady your nerves, to detach yourself. It takes practice. No different than target practice. How you take aim and cock the hammer back._

Sam shivered as he remembered the compassion and concern in Dad’s voice. Remembered how he would have run from the shame he felt. He didn’t want Dad’s empathy because he didn’t feel he deserved it. He was too angry, filled with self-loathing and kept glancing at the bedroom door where Dean was sleeping. Knowing how he hurt him and how it had been the last thing Sam wanted to do. Remembered how he curled into himself and refused to meet Dad’s face. 

Dad just inched the shot glass closer, silently telling Sam to drink. Finally Sam picked up the shot, and downed it in one gulp just as he had always seen Dad do—had watched Dean do while Dad stitched him up. The liquor burned, but was quickly forgotten when he started to choke. He heard Dad’s chuckle, felt the pounding on his back. Once Sam calmed down the burn settled into a warm fire, and Dad’s hand shifted and moved in soothing circles before he continued talking. 

_There’s no shame in being scared or upset—to see one of us hurt, but you have to take care of the business at hand. Put whatever you’re feeling aside, no matter how scared you are. You’ve seen Dean stitch me up. How quick and efficient he is, but don’t think for a minute he’s not just as scared, or that I wasn’t just now. It doesn’t stop, but you learn to live with it, shut it down to do what you have to._ Dad’s hand moved and sat heavily on his shoulder squeezing offering his support. _No one will force you; it’ll be your decision Sam._ Whatever reaction Dad wanted seemed pacified as he patted his shoulder and pushed him to get up. _Now go on wash up and go to bed._ Afterward Sam decided he wanted to learn. Although Dean had offered himself the next time he was injured, Sam only watched as Dad applied the sutures, and only practiced on Dad for almost a year before he attempted to stitch up Dean again. 

Exhaling a shaky breath, Sam bit his lip, and focused. This time fortified with determination, Sam did what Dad told him to do—to detach and focus on the job at hand. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the kit. Starting at the bottom, Sam cut the taped gauze up Dean’s side through the soiled bandage. When he finished, Sam dropped the scissors on the bed and very slowly started to lift. He could only lift a small portion, only the areas that were wet with blood. Everywhere else, the blood had dried and adhered the dressing to Dean’s skin. 

Sam gazed pointedly at Dean’s wounds. His chest was red, covered in blood, with ragged claw marks that had ripped and imbedded into Dean’s skin - vividly remembering how the hellhounds had grabbed Dean, hearing his brother’s frantic cries for help – suddenly, Sam wanted to hurl, but refused and swallowed the bile, along with his fear, down. 

Gradually, he realized what the spell was doing; it was slowly mending the torn flesh, holding Dean’s body, anchoring it here and healing wounds that were meant to kill. 

Picking up the washcloth, Sam stared to clean the wounds. Once he finished Sam could clearly see how much work the spell had done - leaving only a couple of claws marks that still appeared to be deep. To strengthen the spells healing, Sam grabbed the scissors and adhesive tape, and started to create several butterfly bandages where he could. Then threaded a needle and made clean sutures down the length of a one of the claw marks that was still bleeding. 

Afterwards Sam nervously sat down next to Dean, his eyes zeroing in on Dean’s lips then to his pulse, trying to find the smallest inhale and exhale of each breath. 

Dean hadn’t flinched or moaned. Worried Sam searched and found a small mirror to hold up to Dean’s face just to see the evidence. To continuously remind him that Dean was alive and breathing. 

An hour later, Bobby arrived and found him like that - sitting at Dean’s side, the mirror within easy reach and a book in hand, researching. 

It was hours, if not days, before Sam could easily track his brother’s breathing without the mirror. It was never like Dean was sleeping; there was literally no movement except for his shallow, slow breathing. Off case, prior to that damn deal, he’d toss and turn, kick out, bury his body under the covers, or throw everything off. Between the rustles of sheets and the creaks of the bed’s frame, Dean slept hard – and noisily. 

Now there was no response from Dean: to noise, light, or pain - nothing. Not even the rapid shift of eyelids due to REM sleep. Dean’s internal body functioned without the aid of a machine, but nothing beyond that. By definition, Dean was alive. If they took Dean to the hospital, the staff would probably believe and diagnose him as catatonic. Sam knew differently. 

Sam’s greatest fear hung over him like a cloak. Every moment was a clear reminder to the months Sam had lived on without Dean, leaving Sam feeling anxious with the only viable avenue - a single-minded belief that he had to find a way to change the outcome. He had to. 

Focused on research, Sam geared himself on autopilot and only stopped to eat when Bobby stood there watching to make sure he did so. Initially, he had refused to take any time away from Dean. Bobby didn’t give a damn, and nagged him, but what got to Sam was when Bobby suggested that by, refusing to eat, he could miss the one thing that’d save Dean. It was manipulative, but Sam recognized the truth as fact – he could screw up. Sam blatantly dismissed everything else Bobby said: about needing to rest, to move or fuel his body in order to keep up his strength. With false gusto, Sam grudgingly ate and drank what Bobby brought him.

However, he refused to leave Dean’s side, and though he took the time to sleep, it was in two or three hour intervals before returning back to his research.

Early the next morning was the first time it happened. He hadn’t realized or noticed until Bobby commented on the smell. They both turned toward Dean. 

Once Sam realized and understood what the odor was, he merely responded and cleaned Dean up. 

Hours later, tired of changing sheets, Bobby left and returned dropping a couple of packages of Depends by the door. Together they inserted and pushed down an nasogastric tube (NG Tube) through Dean’s nose down into his stomach. Taping the tube to Dean’s cheek where it laid, the other end attached to a bag enabling them to essentially care for Dean’s basic needs. 

By the fourth day, Bobby finally stopped arguing when Sam refused to leave Dean for any reason other than his own physical needs. He didn’t bother to shower, or shave, and was already sporting the dark rough bristles of growth.

Sam didn’t care about hygiene; he only knew and cared about one thing: getting Dean’s soul out of hell. 

*~*~*~

It took about three weeks before Bobby started. Hints that turned into argumentative statements of opinion that Dean needed more care. That it was time to start thinking about getting professional care – that even if they found something to pull him from the pit, what they’d bring back wouldn’t be Dean. That he had been in too long.

Bobby went on saying that he talked to Ellen and she offered them rooms at the roadhouse.

Sam refused to consider it, did his best to tune Bobby out, gut twisting in pain over his failure. 

Sam found it after such a session when a stack he thought he had already gone through had fallen over. One book he didn’t recognize caught his eye; thumbing through, he found an obscure reference to a binding spell. Reading further Sam discovered it was an ancient ritual to literally bind a couple’s soul together, anchoring them forever - even beyond death. 

It was what Sam was looking for.

He ignored the fact that it was designated for soul mates – just as he glossed over the ceremony details for the ritual.

In his excitement, Sam fumbled, nearly dropping the book when he called out for Bobby. His throat was too hoarse to project the volume he needed. Clearing his throat, Sam tried again, yelling out, “I found it!” This time Sam maintained a firm grip while he grabbed a pad and started to write. 

Sam heard Bobby race up the stairs to find him writing a list of ingredients he’d need for the ritual. Bobby exclaimed, “What is it?” 

Sam didn’t look up as he continued to write what he’d need for the ritual, but handed Bobby the book. “I found it, it was right here all the time.”

Finishing Sam looked up in time to see Bobby’s excitement slowly fade as he scanned the ritual spell, his face open in obvious disapproval. Sam reached out to grab the book back. 

He didn’t have to wait long before Bobby spoke up. “You can’t do that.”

Sam didn’t respond only held Bobby’s stare. Bobby shook his head in disbelief. “Are you outta your mind? That’s a binding spell for soul-mates.”

Sam cringed under the weight of Bobby’s objection. Closing his eyes, Sam felt guilt and shame, but then the familiar image of Dean’s dead stare emerged that haunted him beyond his dreams. Because of him, it was a daily reminder that he hadn’t saved Dean, knowing his brother’s soul was trapped in hell – being tortured. He quickly dismissed the idea of walking away, leaving his brother to rot. He couldn’t do that, not when he had the solution. Instead he focused on what the end results would be – he’d have Dean. He could save his brother, make him whole. Opening his eyes, he challenged Bobby to deny him. “Exactly! It’ll be strong enough to pull Dean’s soul from the pit and bind it to me. I can do this, Bobby.”

Bobby just stared at him like he was crazy. “It’s for soulmates, Sam….”

Undaunted, Sam stated, “It’ll bring him back, I can bring him back.” 

Angry Bobby raised his voice. “God damnit Sam, aren’t you listening, _soulmates_ , it’s for people who are _lovers_. That ritual, to make it work…” Bobby trailed off when he thought about what Sam would do. It seemed to give Bobby fortitude as he bitterly spat out, “You’d have to.... Jesus, look _at him, Sam_. What you’re saying? It’d be rape.”

Bobby glared, waiting to see if Sam would deny it, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but there was nothing else. Sam would have been happy to trade places, had already tried to make a deal and had offered himself in trade. This… He’d concede that it wasn’t the optimum solution, but it was close enough, and the only thing they had come across that’d work – even Bobby couldn’t deny that. It was going to work even if he had to… his mind immediately flashed to the spell’s specific instructions – how he’d have to take his brother. Bobby was right it’d be rape, but it would also pull Dean’s soul out of the pit and anchor his body. Sam blushed but didn’t turn away from Bobby’s accusing stare.

Sam watched as Bobby’s eyes widened further in shock along with the realization that Sam knew exactly what the spell required of him – and that he had every intention of following the ritual precisely. 

Bobby shook his head, despondent. “Dean’s your brother, Sam, blood… Doesn’t that mean anything to you anymore?”

“Dean means everything to me. I promised him, Bobby… and this is going to work. It’s a real chance! One I’m not going to ignore.”

Bobby stared at Sam like he was a stranger; his eyes glistened with unshed tears. Lost, he turned toward Dean’s still body. “I shouldn’t have waited this long, but I couldn’t let go – I wanted to believe.”

Sam saw the defeat as Bobby’s shoulders slouched, pulling off his hat, his arm swiped over his face before he readjusted his hat. Bobby adjusted his stance, stood taller, physically bracing himself. 

Sam inhaled as he recognized Bobby’s resolve that he wasn’t going to change his mind, though it didn’t stop Sam from pleading, “Bobby…” 

“Sam, it’s not right. That ritual, I can’t let you do it. This has to stop now.” At the door, Bobby hesitated and gripped the door jam. “I made some calls – talked to Ellen. The new place has enough room, we’ll hire help. There’ll be plenty of hunters around to protect Dean, he’ll be safe, have proper care. We’ll move him by the end of the week.” 

“No, you can’t.”

The anger was gone, leaving a gruff sadness in its wake as Bobby spoke. “Can and will. What you’re talking about, Sam- its wrong! If you can’t see that…” Bobby shook his head, “I understand why, Lord knows, but your brother he … Dean wouldn’t want this.” 

Crushed by Bobby’s reaction Sam hung his head, even as his heart rate increased his mind screaming, _**No!**_ The next moment Sam was up on his feet, lunging for Bobby as he forcibly pulled him back into the room, his fist drawn back. Sam didn’t stop to think. The only thoughts running through his head was he had to stop Bobby and had to get away with Dean. 

The next minute Sam held Bobby’s unconscious body, muttering his apology. “I’m so sorry, Bobby, but you’re wrong.” Sam didn’t waste any time as he dragged Bobby’s dead weight to his bed and laid him down. 

Grabbing a pillow, Sam pulled the case off the pillow. Rushing at a frantic pace, Sam threw a few books inside the case, and everything that was on the nightstand, then he did the same in the bathroom. Going around the room, Sam was quick and thorough. With practiced ease he disconnected and unplugged his laptop; packing the lap top and slip case into his duffle, zipping it up in haste. Grabbing everything he could in one trip, Sam ran downstairs and outside to shove it all into the Impalas’ trunk. He ran back upstairs taking two steps at a time. In the doorway, Sam paused briefly to look at Bobby to make sure he was still unconscious. 

Moving over to Dean, Sam picked him up and holstered his brother over his shoulder so he had a free hand. Grabbing a chair on his way out, Sam closed the door behind him and jammed the chair under the knob before he headed downstairs. Once he had Dean sitting in the passenger seat and buckled the seat belt around him, Sam ran back into the house and straight for the kitchen and the pantry where Bobby kept various ingredients on hand for different rituals and spells. Spotting a bread basket, Sam grabbed it, dumping the bread, and started gathering everything he’d need for the ritual that Bobby had on hand.

Once he deposited the basket in the trunk, Sam got in the car and took off. Sam glanced back at the house through the rearview mirror until he could no longer see it. Miles down the road he grabbed his cell. It only took a moment before Sam heard Ellen’s familiar voice. “Roadhouse, what can I do for you?”

“Ellen, I’m sorry.” 

“Sam?” In just saying his name, Sam heard the instant worry creep into Ellen voice, the panic as she asked. “Sam, is that you?”

“Just tell ‘im that I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” Sam didn’t bother waiting for a reply as he hit end and turned his cell off, then pocketed it. Sam glanced behind him through his rearview mirror again but Bobby was already miles away. Out of the corner of his eye Sam did a double take when he saw Dean - he looked almost normal. Slouched down, leaning against the door, his eyes open, it gave Dean the appearance that he was just staring off in the distance. Nervously, Sam’s hands clenched the steering wheel as he turned to stare back out at the road ahead of him. “He didn’t understand, Dean. I swear I never would have hurt him, not Bobby… but I couldn’t let him take you away – you know that right?” 

Dean didn’t answer. Only the constant roar of the Impala’s engine filled the silence. Sam bit worriedly on his bottom lip. God, right now he just wanted to hear Dean’s voice, to hear his brother curse at him, ask him what the hell was wrong with him, what he was thinking to knock Bobby unconscious – how he could have hurt Bobby, how he could have just tied him up and Dean would have been right if Sam had stopped to think about it, but everything had happened too fast. 

Under his breath, Sam spoke, “After I bring you back, Bobby will understand…”

Suddenly, Dean’s voice surrounded him. _“No, he won’t Sam. Fuck! Once you bring me back it’ll only confirm what he read- that you fucked me.”_

Desperate, Sam responded. “It won’t be like that, Dean.”

 _“No? Then how’s it going to be, Sammy? Fucking my ass was the main ingredient to create that bond. You really prepared to do that? What do you think Dad would say?”_

Sam slammed his palm again the steering wheel. “Don’t!”

_“Sam, anyway you look at it Bobby’s right, it’s wrong and you know it. It’s rape, fuck it’d be incest…”_

Shame and guilt filled Sam, but he brushed it away. “I… there’s no other way. It’ll only be once, Dean, I promise. It’s just to bring you back- once I have you back we can fix it.”

_“Sammy…”_

“I have to, Dean, I’m sorry, but have to.” Dean didn’t respond. Sam turned toward his brother who hadn’t moved and sat in the same position. Swallowing the lump, Sam realized the conversation had all been in his head. Nodding to the phantom voice of his subconscious, Sam replied, “I can’t - won’t go on without you, Dean – not again.”

Hanging on to his determination, Sam clamped his lips into a thin line, the resolve quieting his doubt as he stepped on the gas. Absently, he pushed in a cassette and turned up the volume and allowed the sounds of AC/DC to drown out Dean’s protest.

*~*~* 

Twelve hours later, Sam exited the freeway in Idaho. Initially Sam had no idea where he’d go. He only knew he had to steer clear of any hunters in case Bobby or Ellen had put out any feelers. At this point he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t try to stop him. 

_“Can you blame them, Sam?”_

Sam’s eyes crossed over to Dean. His brother was just as Sam left him, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The same ones Sam had placed on Dean earlier in the day when he stopped for gas. However, now in the density of nightfall, it was odd. Sam hunched his shoulders, ignoring Dean’s question. 

As it was, it was only the latest of phantom Dean’s questions. One of many Dean had started to ask, or more often than not, voicing complaints that quickly rattled on Sam’s nerves. 

Once it started, it continued almost non-stop. At first Sam responded, but as the day wore on it was apparent his subconscious was having phantom Dean, play devil’s advocate, to voice his own doubts. Once Sam understood what was happening he stopped answering Dean, realizing that if he continually answered his brother it’d only affirm Bobby’s accusation that he was crazy. 

_Dean chuckled, “You don’t need to answer me, Sammy, but you know as well as I do that if any hunter worth their two-cents got wind of what you did- kidnapping your brother, a mindless drooling mess -- you and I both know they better not find you. They’re not going to stop and ask questions. I mean look at me; you got me in fucking diapers, man! It’s… let me just say that it’s_ _ **disgusting**_ … _And for the record, you’re never to bring that up_ – _ **ever!**_ ” Sam listened, but stared straight ahead, fear prickling at the back of his head that if he looked at Dean he’d discover how over the edge he truly was and actually see Dean fidgeting in his seat. 

_“Also, let’s not forget your grand plan to fuck me.”_ Sam clenched his jaw and grounded his back teeth, trying unsuccessfully to block out Dean’s words as he focused on the road ahead. 

_“You can’t deny it’s wrong, Sam. Anyone out there in the real world, they’ll automatically think you’re ready for the rubber room.”_

Initially, Sam refused to respond and squared his shoulders. However, the dense silence weighted on his conscious and before Sam could stop himself, he spoke. “Doesn’t matter, I won’t break my promise.”

At first, phantom Dean didn’t reply, then Sam heard the sadness in Dean’s voice, the defeat as he muttered, _“I know, Sam, I know.”_

It was silent after that, and took another hour on back roads before Sam finally pulled to a stop. In front of them stood a cabin, where they had stayed one summer when they were kids. He wondered if Dean remembered. It was just before summer, and as usual they were travelling, going from one job to another. However, when they arrived here they ended up staying the entire summer. For them it was long time, but that wasn’t the reason why Sam remembered. It was shortly after his birthday when he turned twelve: Dad had gotten the place for them to hole up in while he worked a hunt with Caleb and put him in charge while Dean rested. Sam remembered because it was the first time Dad put him in charge taking care of Dean. 

While they were there, though it was only the flu, Sam fretted over Dean the first week when he did nothing but sleep. The following week, Dean was still weak and sick enough that he enjoyed Sam waiting on him. But by the end of the second week, Dean was feeling better, enough that they fought. He started to bitch about everything, mainly because Dad had extracted a promise from Dean that while he was gone he had to rest and follow Sammy’s orders.

That first week, Sam hated seeing Dean so sick, but taking care of Dean also made him feel good, like he was doing something. Afterwards, when they started fighting over stupid stuff, Sam remembered hiding more than one smile – pleased that he had a hand in making Dean better.

Sam couldn’t deny he was prepared to do it again.

However, it didn’t mean Sam wasn’t scared – afraid he’d screw up, that he was too late, that Dean would hate him. Sam waited, half expecting phantom Dean to say something, to start taunting him again, but there was only silence. 

Slowly, Sam turned to Dean. Sam swallowed against the pain he felt at seeing his brother. The question about whether Dean remembered was forgotten, as he thought about the ritual to free Dean from hell and stated, “It won’t be long now… I’ll go – get things ready.” Resigned, Sam put his hand on the door and got out of the car.

Opening the trunk, Sam pulled out a shotgun loaded with rock salt, and headed towards the cabin. It didn’t take him long to verify the cabin had been abandoned before he secured the area. The inside was empty, though there were two bedrooms; Sam decided to unload everything they’d need in the main room where he planned to utilize the fireplace and the stack of wood he had spotted out back. Then he went back to the car and collected what else they’d need from the trunk before he gathered Dean, settling him in a sitting position against the wall near the fireplace. 

After carrying in enough wood to last for a few days, Sam started to salt all the windows and doors before he turned his attention to building a fire. 

Focused, moving with a fluidly from years of practice, it had only taken Sam a little over an hour to get unpacked and settled in. Only when Sam was done did he turn toward Dean, wincing when he saw the sunglasses. He reached over to gently remove them, to see what he hated: Dean’s vacant lifeless stare.

Suddenly Sam was nervous, feeling self-conscious as he took off his jacket and grabbed the book – knowing he had to set up for the ritual, to prep Dean.

Even as he thought of the ritual, Sam recalled the illustrations that had accompanied the spell. His imagination was rapid as it supplied graphic details visualizing his brother. Quickly, Sam closed his eyes as he was bombarded with intimate images – most taken out of context over the years. Initially all of them were innocent memories from them living too close together, being inside each other’s pocket for years, but strung together one image after another, Sam felt flush and it wasn’t the heat from the fireplace.

Sam was mortified as one memory came to the forefront - the first time he had spied Dean making out. The first time had been an accident, and he had told himself it was normal – he was fourteen and Dean had coaxed Trisha out of her bra, but as the memory played Sam realized he wasn’t fourteen anymore and couldn’t hide behind the lie. 

Shamed, Sam inhaled sharply, sucking in the inner walls of his cheek, clamping it down between his teeth, trying to use pain to forcibly shove the images away. Suddenly it was Bobby’s voice that echoed accusingly in Sam’s head. “ _It’s wrong…. Your brother he wouldn’t want this.”_

Sam shook his head in denial, he had to do it; it was the only way to bring Dean back. Abruptly Sam heard Dean, _“Doesn’t change that you actually want to fuck me, Sam, now does it?”_

Sam’s eyes snapped open at phantom Dean’s words. A lump formed in Sam’s throat as he stared at Dean. “No, I … it’s not…” Eyes watering, Sam zeroed in on an old memory of Dean jerking off; flashing to the numerous times he had used the memory to get himself off on the forbidden image. “I don’t…”

_“That’s a lie, Sam, and we both know it.”_

Defensive over the heated memory, Sam blurted out in a rush, his voice getting louder, “It’s not my fault; I didn’t mean to watch you! But you woke me up when you made out with Trisha then turned around and performed for her – in the fucking living room, Dean. What the fuck was that? I was fourteen with a walking erection, what the hell was I supposed to do?”

In Sam’s mind, phantom Dean inhaled sharply then slowly exhaled, lost in the memory as he whistled before he licked his lips. _“Trish the dish, now that girl had a rack. Knockers you could suck on all day…_

“Damn it, Dean.” 

_“What? Alright fine, let’s focus on the big picture. You thinking of cock; and not just any cock, Sam, but my cock. In my book Bobby called it – it’s wrong because I’m your brother, not to mention gay.”_

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s ridiculous conclusion. He was fourteen for Christ’s sake.

Phantom Dean shrugged in response. _“Doesn’t change the fact that you jerked off thinking about me instead of Trish. And what about all of the other times when I was the star of you jack off material? And the biggie Sammy, how many times did you think of me when you where with Jess?”_

“I didn’t!” Vigorously, Sam shook his head. It wasn’t true, it wasn’t. “Don’t!”

 _“Don’t what, Sam? I’m not even having this conversation – it’s just you man. A mano- e- mano having a one-sided, ready for the rubber room, about whether or not you secretly want to fuck me- dude, denial only goes so far._ _**Look at me, Sam**_ _– I’m a drooling, fucking douche, change my diaper, piece of shit and you still want to fuck me. How the hell can you justify that? Not think it’s wrong, huh Sam?”_

Shaking, Sam clamped his hands over his ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

_“No, I can’t do that, Sam. And I’m not going to go away because you know this is wrong.”_

“No, you know what’s wrong, Dean? You down in the pit -because of me- _that’s wrong!_ And I can’t, man, I can’t go on without you. I tried! I did that for six months! Every fucking day was hell waking up without you. You weren’t out on some hunt, you were dead. _I had to bury you!_ I can’t do it again. If you want to kill me afterwards, hate me… If that’s what you want, what you need, fine, I’ll walk away for good - I don’t care, at least you’d be out of the pit and whole again.” 

Suddenly Sam stood, ignoring the cracked ache in Dean’s voice when he called out, _“Sammy.”_

“I can’t, I can’t, not again…” His hands shaking Sam angrily took off his shirt, throwing it to the side before he bent over and wrestled out of each of his boots, kicking each one as it came off. The pain of those days flooded in, igniting his every action. Of how lonely he was, of the guilt eating away his soul, of waking up each day with the hard reality that Dean was dead. Day after day, Sam mourned, while he continued to search for the Trickster. Fueled by the memories that still taunted him, he knew this time it was different and that he could stop it. With renewed purpose Sam rummaged through his duffle bag, pulling out a bowl and gathering the ingredients he’d collected from Bobby’s. 

Setting ingredients next to the bowl, Sam arranged each one in the order he’d need them, including a mirror and a bottle of lube. 

Turning toward Dean, Sam inhaled then bent down to undo Dean’s shoes, rolling the socks off and shoving them inside. Sam’s gaze shifted toward Dean’s pants and he sighed, hoping this would be the last time. 

In the last few weeks undressing Dean, cleaning him up, was a necessity that Sam did on autopilot and would zone out in order to handle the task at hand; one Sam had done every day since he started caring for Dean. His movements gentle, mechanical as he cleaned his brother and disposed of the diaper. Returning he grabbed Dean’s pants, and folded them neatly, setting them on a chair and placed Dean’s shoes under it before Sam took off Dean’s shirt.

Glancing at Dean’s chest, Sam noticed the wounds were gone, healed. Kneeling down Sam’s eyes trailed over the faint scars, reminders that the marks were meant to kill leaving behind only thin crimson white lines over Dean’s chest and hips. Gently, Sam laid his palm over the widest stretch of skin. It was the deepest, near Dean’s heart; the last one to close over. Sam’s thumb brushed over its length, feeling the heated warmth of Dean’s skin. 

Abruptly, Sam pulled away and busily folded the shirt to add to the pile with Dean’s pants. On repeat, a mantra played in his head: “Going to save you Dean, I have to.” Lips pressed tight, his nostrils flared as he nervously grabbed the book and started to read. He slowly added each new ingredient as it was needed to the mix and repetitively licked his lips, a move that did nothing to fight against the tight sting of dryness he felt whenever he had to recite a new passage. 

Once he finished the last passage, Sam glanced at Dean; his chin trembling as he set aside the bowl – it was time. Sam’s fingers quickly unfastened the button and zipper of his jeans; hands pushed inside the waistband as he pushed both pants and boxers down and off, kicking them away. 

Kneeling beside Dean, Sam gathered him, lifting his torso, and cradled him in his arms. Fingers carded through Dean’s hair as he stared down at Dean’s face into his verdant eyes. 

Dean stared back, nothing had changed; his eyes were open, empty. Phantom Dean didn’t utter a sound. Sam gulped as he crushed Dean’s body to his chest, his words choked. “I promise, Dean, it’s just to bring you back … we won’t do this ever again, I won’t – _ **I promise!”**_

Overly distraught Sam’s hold tightened, his words repeating in a solemn vow, “I promise, I promise, Dean.” Sam’s body shook, losing his battle as tears fell, trailing down his cheek onto Dean’s shoulder. 

Pulling back, Sam gave Dean an innocent kiss on the forehead before he gently laid him back down on the floor.

Grabbing the bowl, Sam dipped his fingers into the concoction in order to draw a symbol over Dean’s heart and paused, surprised to find the mixture dense; he rubbed it between his fingers. Instead of feeling the watery texture he had initially mixed, the fluid lacked elasticity, its consistency was thicker and heavier. Worried Sam glanced at the empty bottles and bags he had used. He only had enough ingredients to concoct what was in the bowl – it had to be enough to draw six symbols he needed - three on Dean’s body, and three on his own body. 

Sam couldn’t afford the delay; to wait and restock, not when he was sure Bobby and Ellen had put the word out – had hunters looking for them, willing to take Dean away from him. No he had to do this now - had to make it work. 

Not wasting any more time Sam focused as he attempted to copy the first symbol from the book - over Dean’s heart. His fingers pressed, rubbing hard into Dean’s skin then his own trying to stretch the dense mixture. Sam picked up the book to study the next symbol to be placed on their foreheads. He did Dean’s first then picked up the mirror to draw a matching symbol before moving on to the last symbol, a single line, half circle and three dots that was to be placed on their cocks. 

Once he was done, Sam felt a low heat generate from under each symbol – signaling it was working. He was ready and though it wasn’t expressly part of the ritual, Sam needed to prep Dean first.

After wiping his fingers clean, Sam grabbed the bottle of lube and moved between Dean’s legs. The increasing heat under the symbols urged Sam to go faster. Lifting Dean’s leg, Sam draped it over his shoulder, and squeezed the bottle coating his finger and thumb. Nervous Sam inhaled and held his breath as he pushed forward finding Dean’s entrance. 

Under hooded eyes Sam glanced at Dean, waiting, and cursed. It was stupid of him to expect a reaction this soon. 

Inhaling, Sam slid the tip of his thumb further into Dean’s hole pass the natural resistance of muscle ring. He circled and stretched before adding a finger pressing in and pushing against the inner wall filling Dean.

Leaning in, Sam lifted and hitched Dean’s leg over his shoulder as he continued to wiggle and rotate his finger in a circle before adding a second finger, scissoring and doing his best to use the same gentle motions he’d experienced his first time back when he was in high school.

Sam took several nervous glances at his brother, searching for any sign that Dean – his body was reacting. 

Nothing changed.

Pained with frustration, along with shame and guilt, Sam couldn’t deny what bothered him most was not knowing whether or not he was hurting Dean. However he had the same two options as when he arrived: stop or continue on if he was going to complete the ritual. 

There was no choice, he couldn’t stop and take away the one chance he had to help Dean escape hell.

Doubling his efforts, Sam added more lube and pulled out, replacing his thumb with another finger, stretching then pushing all the way back until his fingers bottomed out. He felt the heat envelope around him, and held his breath as an image surfaced – an old fantasy. One Sam had over the years of a faceless man. Sam closed his eyes and inhaled when his cock twitched in interest. Although he was washed with shame and guilt of what he was doing to Dean, yet Sam knew he had to do this to complete the ritual. Mentally he pushed everything else aside to focus. 

Once he accepted the fantasy, Sam delved deeper allowing the visions to further entice his desire.

It was late; he was back in high school at his locker. He didn’t hear him until it was too late. By then he was pressed up behind Sam, pushing him forward up against the lockers, his body flush against Sam’s. His breath ghosted over Sam’s neck. The solid weight of his body pressed hard against Sam, silently telling him to stop struggling. Once Sam complied the stranger pulled Sam’s arms up over his head then slithered down Sam’s waist to his flank where he grabbed Sam’s hips, angling them and rocking his body so Sam could feel the hard column of his erection. The faceless fantasy man spoke, sending shivers of pleasure straight to Sam’s cock. _“The way you walk around acting like no one is watching - but I’m watching, I’m always watching.”_

Sam felt the guy’s fingers undo his pants, pushing down the fabric along with his boxers. His laugher filled Sam’s ears, _“Already hard, such a good slut, but now you’re going to be my slut now, aren’t you? Going to fuck you right here, right now – isn’t that what you want?”_

His hand wrapped around Sam’s cock, sliding down to pump his already slick member. His voice lost, all Sam could do was moan in pleasure, nodding his head, yes. In approval the man kissed his neck even as his grip tightened around Sam’s cock, but it was his next words that had Sam spinning, _“Sammy you’re such a good greedy slut, but I know the truth. What you really want is me on my knees, pounding fast and hard into my ass, with me begging you for more. Isn’t that right Sammy?”_

Sam gasped as his fantasy man turned him around and he came face to face with Dean. Then he spoke and Sam knew it was phantom Dean’s voice. _“You can’t hide it any more Sammy”_ His voice rose angry, accusatory, _“The truth is you’ve wanted to fuck me for so long – so do it Sammy, fuck me”_ Dean’s hand squeezed his cock, his voice raspy with want, as phantom Dean spat out, _“fuck your brother!”_

Abruptly the fantasy of Dean shut down and Sam was faced with the cruel reality. Sam blinked, looking down past his cock to Dean’s hole, slick with lube.

Dean yelled, _“fuck me!”_

Torn but throbbing in need, Sam responded and leaned in. He could see the head of his cock poised at Dean’s entrance. Pressing in, he watched as skin gave away and swallowed the fat head of his cock. 

Sam stopped, whimpering at the sight where his cock disappeared inside of Dean’s tight hole. Then he muttered a curse, moaning at the vice grip Dean had on the head. Dean gasped between moans, _“Sammy, you’re so fucking BIG. Give me more, make me your slutty bitch - fuck me!”_

Breathless, with pent up excitement, Sam didn’t need any other encouragement, and snapped his hips, shoving his cock inside of Dean –groaning at the heated bliss that enveloped his cock. 

Out of control, Sam bottomed out only to pull back and plunge then back in. The rhythm was hard and fast, as Sam pistoned in and out of Dean. He had barely started when he paused; his cock buried deep within Dean as he came hard.

Sam quivered, pulling out, his cock glistening wet as he gazed at the come that spilled out of Dean’s hole. His cock still hard throbbed, the head leaking. Sam reached down to tug Dean’s thighs up higher until Dean’s knees were hugging his neck, then he leaned over folding Dean in half. His hand blindly reached underneath them and guided his cock back into Dean’s hole. There was no preamble as Sam sank in and bottomed out, fucking hard into Dean. 

The wet slap of skin, lube and come, resounded in Sam’s ears building to a higher tempo. One handed he reached out to caress and palm Dean’s cock. Only to feel the ridged organ trapped between their bodies. Sam’s hand tightened around the shaft, pulling it on every downward thrust. Sam continued until he felt Dean’s cock twitch hard in his grasp then felt the wetness over his fingers before it spread between their bodies. 

In his mind, Dean screamed out, _YES_. The next second Sam roared triumphantly. Riding Dean’s heat, Sam’s hips snapped harder even as he shifted to have both hands on the floor near Dean’s head in order to balance his weight. 

Focused on the moment, his body erratic; Sam thrust to a primal rhythm that edged him closer, his need riding higher, with words of: oh god, Dean, yes tumbled out of his mouth. Along with his promise, in gasping breaths until only, _Dean_ , escaped in a shout as Sam came hard once again – his entire body, all the down to his toes shuddered in the climax until he collapsed in exhaustion on top of Dean even as he tipped over into an abyss of pleasure. 

*~*~*~* 

When Sam came back to himself; he carefully untangled Dean’s legs off of his shoulders and lifted up bracing his upper body off of Dean’s chest and opened his eyes surprised to find Dean gazing up at him.

Everything slowed down as Sam blinked, realizing the look on Dean’s face was one he couldn’t place. Then it hits him, it’s not the same blank stare Sam’s seen every day for the last month: the hollow emptiness; instead, Dean is staring back at him looking confused – worried, scared.

Through the shock Sam’s mind finally supplies the answer – the ritual. 

Oblivious of their positions, Sam’s voice cracked as he eagerly called out, praying that it was Dean that he did it, the ritual worked. “Dean? Dean?” Although Dean didn’t respond verbally, Sam could clearly see the muscles in Dean’s face jumped in sheer panic even as Dean’s eyes shifted scanning the room looking behind Sam. 

Sam offered, “Shush you’re safe now. OH my god, it worked. You’re safe.” Instead of being reassured, Sam could see Dean’s panic escalate. He reached out, his hand trembling as Sam cupped Dean’s face in an effort to comfort his brother to let him know it was true that he was safe.

His gesture seemed to have the reverse affect as Dean shook his head to dislodge Sam’s hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

Sam’s panic rose, as he pleaded, “No don’t, _please_. Its true you’re safe now.” Then gently, Sam caressed his thumb over Dean’s cheek in an attempt to coax Dean to open his eyes.

Dean stilled under his hand, but he did as Sam silently requested and opened his eyes. Overwhelmed, that it worked Sam stared into Dean’s eyes, amazed to see Dean was actually there. His pupils were blown, emotions clearly visible as they flitted across Dean’s face. Sam was so excited that he was seeing anything rather than the all too familiar vacant look he had come to hate. Sam stared in wonder as Dean’s eyes welled with tears before he turned away; lips thinning into a line like he was afraid to speak, obviously distraught.

Slowly Sam realized he was making it worse, but he had to make Dean understand. Know it was okay now, he was safe. He grasped Dean’s jaw, and turned him back to face Sam. At first Dean resisted, but Sam had the leverage and forced Dean to face him again; only to be horrified by the site of tears running freely down Dean’s face.

Dean opened his mouth to say something. There was no sound, but he tried again. This time Sam understood when Dean mouthed the word, _off_. Sam flushed suddenly acutely aware of their positions, that he was semi-hard and still inside Dean. 

Mortified Sam instantly lost his erection and carefully pulled out and crawled off to bodily back away, giving Dean more space. Hanging his head, Sam stammered, his voice choked by emotion. “Oh god Dean, I’m sorry, but I had to – to bring you back.”

Sam glanced over under his lashes only to see Dean had turned away, curling into himself. He stared at Dean’s back; lost in thought chastising himself filling in the blanks of what Dean must be thinking finding himself naked with his brother on top and still inside him… 

Sam was conflicted: torn between emotions. He was ecstatic, overjoyed to see Dean not only conscious, but animated and seemingly aware of his surroundings. Simultaneously, he felt shame and was hurt by Dean’s blatant rejection - a moment later he admonished his selfishness. 

Suddenly needing to do something Sam scrambled to find a blanket to wrap around Dean’s trembling body. Barely pausing he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on before returning to Dean. 

Under his breath Sam continued to offer comfort, muttering nonsense, to Dean about how _he was safe now_ , as Sam unfolded the blanket and bent down to cover his brother’s shaking form. He even started to tuck the blanket around him, but Sam quickly stopped when he noticed Dean cringed away from his touch. 

Dropping the blanket Sam turned away hiding his tears and busily stoked the fire. Once he felt calmer, Sam stood and grabbed a duffle as he searched for clean clothes: a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt for Dean. Then he took the pile into the bathroom and placed them by sink. Although there was no gas or electricity, they did have running water; if Dean needed to he could use the bathroom for some privacy.

Maintaining a healthy distance, Sam observed Dean’s response; he didn’t move. Sam watched confused by his reaction and the hurt he felt by Dean’s withdrawal. Logically he knew Dean had every right to be scared, to be afraid of him, especially after waking up to find his brother violating him. Through the loathing shame, it did nothing to diminish Sam’s elation that the spell worked; he’d done it, he’d pulled Dean from the pit. Bonded his soul with Dean’s – he saved Dean. 

Breaking the silence, Sam nervously choked out. “I put clean clothes in the bathroom for you. There’s no electricity or heat, but you can wash up… I can help you if you…”

Dean stiffened in fright before he answered unequivocally, “No.” Then jerkily he moved to stand. 

The weight to reassure Dean urged Sam to speak, “Dean, I…” however at the sound of his voice, Dean cowered under the blanket. Sam froze at the sight. Only when he felt assured that Sam was going to keep his distance did Dean sluggishly make his way to the bathroom and shut the door.

The sound vibrated through the deafening silence as if Dean had slammed it shut. Sam stared at the door. His breath even, the relief and pure joy he felt at seeing Dean animated eased whatever hurt Sam felt– even after Dean’s reaction, no matter how sick it was Sam couldn’t deny the satisfying hum of pleasure his body felt in the wake of taking Dean. 

Closing his eyes, Sam, took a moment to memorize each second knowing it was his first and last time with Dean - only the crackling roar of the fire behind him broke the silence. 

*~*~*~*

Sam anxiously stared at the door then back at the fire. 

It had been over four hours since Dean had taken refuge in the bathroom and nearly three hours since Sam panicked and threatened to break the door down if Dean didn’t answer him. 

Dean had responded with a choked, “Don’t Sam.” 

While it had eased one fear that Sam hadn’t lost his mind and somehow imagined Dean’s reanimation, it was only replaced by another fear that was growing stronger by the second – that he had saved Dean only to have to walk away, and endure Dean’s hatred for what he did. 

Misguided, Sam thought he could handle it. Handle anything, as long as he knew Dean was alive, saved from the pit. Although Sam knew and never doubted he’d keep his word, to leave Dean. The truth was he had no idea how painful the prospect would be now after he knew what it felt like to have Dean beneath him, to be inside…. He had no idea how much just the idea of leaving Dean now, afterward, was going to break his heart. 

His consciousness berated himself, _“You promised!”_ Nodding to the truth of those words, Sam swallowed reminding himself that it was beyond measure to have this Dean over the one he had cared for – that Dean dead or comatose left him shattered, leaving Sam nothing but a shell, waiting to die. 

Inhaling, Sam squared his shoulders resigned to what he had to do. Sam’s eyes shifted to the door and exhaled. He reached for his cell phone. Flipping it open he clicked on the address book and scrolled down until he found Bobby’s name. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed Bobby’s name, listening to it ring.

He didn’t have long to wait before he heard a voice, “Sam, that you?” 

Maybe it shouldn’t have but it surprised him to hear Ellen’s voice then Bobby’s in the background, “Goddamn it; give me my phone.”

“You’re driving. Sam? Honey is that you?”

The fire flickered and crackled; Sam stared into the flames. His vision blurred, voice hoarse, yet loud to his own ears when he spoke. “It worked, Dean’s alive, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me…” In a pained whisper he added, “I’ll text you the coordinates. Hurry!”

Sam heard the empathetic sorrow in Ellen’s words, “Oh Sam…” it was too much and he hit end, fingers moving on auto as Sam clicked the bubble to text them. Once he added the coordinates and hit send, Sam turned the ringer off and set it aside, ignoring how it lit up as Ellen’s calls went to voicemail.

Tears escaped and slid down his face. Although it was Sam’s imagination that supplied a pseudo image of Bobby along with the words that played in a loop. The hunter’s voice was etched in shocked anger and disgust, as the he continued to condemn Sam’s actions. “Raping your own brother Sam – how can you ever make that right?”

Sam had no answer because there was none; he couldn’t make it right. He could only wait until they got here before he left and walked away from Dean forever.

*~*~*~*

As soon as the bathroom door shut behind him, Dean collapsed against it. Sliding to the floor where he stayed huddled - willing his erection to go away. It didn’t. 

His shoulders quaked as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The only thing he was sure about was this wasn’t hell and the man out there… His heart raced, swallowing trying the deny the truth, but Dean was certain the man out there wasn’t fake!Sam. 

Yet he had been in hell; Dean knew that, it wasn’t something one forgets or could ever dream up. The last thing he remembered was fake!Sam fucking him. Maybe he passed out or fell asleep, Dean didn’t know, but either option in hell was a luxury. However when he woke up and opened his eyes, Dean didn’t even realize anything was different. At first it was like nothing had changed since he was in the same position with Sam pounding his ass, and it felt good. He was getting off on it.

Dean enjoyed being with fake!Sam whenever Alastair allowed it. 

It had been one of Alastair’s _rewards_ after Dean caved and accepted his place. The demon took as much pleasure from mind fucks as he did torture, especially when Alastair considered it a generous reward on his part. Forced to be with fake!Sam intimately – it definitely fucked with Dean’s mind. It was months before Alastair stopped watching, bored when Dean stopped resisting and eagerly spread his legs, maintained his erection and only came on demand. 

Without Alastair there, the dynamics between him and fake!Sam changed, it was more intimate and eventually Dean took solace in fake!Sam’s embrace. His touch alternated between firm dominance to gentle caresses, bringing Dean to orgasm over and over again. 

Their time together quickly became Dean’s escape, a safe haven. He knew it wasn’t Sam, not _his_ Sam. However it didn’t matter how wrong it was, that what he wanted was a taboo that his father nor the real Sam would never forgive him for. Still, it never stopped Dean from trying to seek out the reward to be in fake!Sam’s arms, and he worked doubly hard to earn the favor. The more he craved time with Sam, the less he got, and the more Alastair dangled the reward.

The things he did under Alastair’s tutelage just to see fake!Sam filled him with shame. But this… how? Dean knew it wasn’t fake!Sam the moment he heard Sam talk. Fake!Sam rarely talked, for some reason it had lacked the right texture of Sam’s voice. Whenever he did, Dean physically reacted. His responses jerky filled with assurance that it was a demon in a meatsuit, a doppelganger of his brother. 

In the beginning, Alastair quickly picked up on that and ordered fake!Sam not to talk. The order didn’t last as the demon got carried away in enjoying the sexual torture. Afterwards Alastair didn’t care, but when Alastair stopped watching, the demon in fake!Sam’s meatsuit suddenly did. He wanted the illusion, enjoyed when Dean blurred the lines, wanted him there in the moment, to have Dean’s response be genuine. 

Consciously, Dean always knew that it was fake!Sam. It was why he silently always referred to him as fake!Sam. But in hell Alastair discovered a truth Dean never would have willingly admitted topside - he wanted Sam, and in hell he was willing to do whatever it took to be with him, fake or not.

However, in the other room - that wasn’t fake!Sam, but his brother. Dean realized the truth when Sam spoke; muttering an apology over and over. 

At first he was horrified by the thought that Sam was there in hell with him, but that didn’t make sense; not that incest wasn’t a good mind fuck, it was, why Alastair brought in fake!Sam in the first place. It was a game he thoroughly enjoyed. However Dean knew he wasn’t in hell, he could feel the difference, because Alastair and Lilith weren’t there. For something like this, he’d have an audience. They’d be there, and wouldn’t have allowed Dean to leave the room.

Quietly observing definitely wasn’t their style. 

No, somehow he was no longer in hell and the man out there - that was Sam, his real brother. Even knowing that, or maybe because of it, he was still hard. What the hell was he going to say to Sam? 

He’s been hell’s bitch for ten years. A trained bitch dropping to his knees begging Fake!Sam to fuck him. He was a disgusted sick freak. Immobile, raked with shame, Dean silently cursed himself, and could only huddle against the door as tears rolled down his face.

*~*~*~*

Startled, Dean was nearly jumping in his skin when Sam had knocked on the door. To his shame, Dean’s erection was back at full force pulsing in excitement that Sam was on the other side of the door. Simultaneously, Dean clenched his fists, digging his nails into skin as his heart pounded loudly against his chest. Sam was seconds away from discovering the truth, a secret Dean had suppressed for years – that he was the true freak, a monster, and had always been, not Sam; because for years he had desired his own brother. It was sick, a deprived truth he had been forced to face at Alastair’s hand when he was in hell. 

Now, by some unknown force Dean still didn’t understand, he was no longer in hell. And somehow he was with Sam, his Sam. Worse, he had contaminated his brother with his sinful incestuous desire. It was the only explanation he could think of. 

Sam’s voice was just loud enough to carry through the door. “It’s okay Dean. I called Bobby. He and Ellen will be here soon.” He also heard the blatant sorrow in every word Sam uttered.

He didn’t know for sure, but imagined the full length of Sam’s body pressed against the door.

Above him, Dean heard then swallowed against the lump forming in his throat when he heard Sam choke out his name, then he heard Sam shift.

When Sam spoke again, his voice suddenly closer; it was as if Sam knew Dean was sitting on the floor, pressed up against the door. “Dean, please, you need to eat and drink. I made you something to eat. You don’t have to worry, I won’t… I’ll just leave it on the chair by the door – I’ll go outside so you can, so you’ll be more comfortable.” 

Dean’s heart pounded as he listened on. Abruptly a chair scraped across the floor then Sam moved again before he walked away, the cabin door opened and then closed in his wake.

Dean sat there, dazed. Even with the door between them, Dean had heard the break in Sam’s voice then a hiccup escape. It was that hitch, something he hadn’t heard in Sam’s voice since their dad died. It was a tell sign that only he and dad knew, showcasing exactly how frightened Sam was. Hearing it tugged at Dean’s heart, urging him to protect his baby brother. An impulse he couldn’t deny, a yearning to fling the door open and take Sammy in his arms and crush him in an embrace telling him that everything would be alright.

Although upset and frustrated, Dean forced himself to ignore the desire to go after Sam. Swearing under his breath, Dean embedded his fingernails deeper, even as he tried to will, his erection to subside. It didn’t work as he glanced down eyeing his ridged erection, it was the only reason he couldn’t leave and go after his brother.

With a hard thud Dean banged his head against the door. 

*~*~*~*

Humming with anxiety, Sam started to pace around the Impala. Sam’s arms started to swing while one hand clenched into a fist and the other raked through his hair. As his pace picked up, so did his emotions. His feelings out of control, guilt and pleasure fought for dominance.

Sam tried and failed to shut his mind down. Instead, his subconscious played devil’s advocate and replayed highlighting those moments he took Dean. Forcing him to remembering how it felt to be inside Dean – that with Dean it was like perfection something he had never felt with anyone else before. 

The intensity of those moments and the pleasure quickly collided with the moment he realized Dean was really there that the ritual worked. Only to have it all go downhill from there as Sam understood what Dean was trying to tell him: _off_. With one word Sam’s world flipped upside down then inside out - he had gone from being Dean’s savior to Dean’s rapist – driving his brother away from him forever. 

Sam told Dean he’d leave him if that’s what it took, that doing the ritual was worth saving Dean. And it was. Only now is he starting to get an inkling of what it’d mean to leave Dean behind. He had thought seeing Dean’s body as nothing but a hollow husk in a comatose state was hell, but now… Having that moment of perfection inside of Dean, of pieces fitting together feeling whole then the thought of having to walk away tore at Sam’s heart.

He realized that it’s probably just a residual effect of the spell combining their souls. Still, just the thought of leaving Dean pained him in ways he had never experienced. And that was saying a lot for all the experience he had in holding Dean’s dead body. Even right now with only the cabin wall between them and less than two hundred feet apart, Sam ached to be with Dean. 

Sam stopped and glared at the cabin. He braced his hands over the Impala’s roof as he tried to regain control. Fighting against the building need to go to Dean, to be with him, to hold and care for him… in frustrated anger Sam pounded his fists against the roof, forcing himself to stay put. Then he flushed with guilt and shame as his mind taunted him with the real truth, one he couldn’t deny: how he wanted to take and fuck Dean again.

*~*~*~*

It was late afternoon before Sam trusted himself enough to go back inside and check on Dean. Already twenty-four hours had passed since he’d started the ritual and nearly twelve since he’d called Bobby. He only hoped Bobby and Ellen would be there soon before he lost control and made things worse.

At the door he hesitated trying to decide on how to enter: quietly, to not disturb Dean, or nosily to let Dean know he was there. Deciding on the latter, Sam opened the door and stomped his feet, brushing off dirt as if there was a mat. Clearing his throat he called out, “Dean, I’m back.”

Sam stopped just inside the doorway and glanced over to the chair and the tray that Sam had left for Dean. It was untouched. The pit of his stomach dropped, his heart breaking further at Dean’s refusal to eat or drink because it had come from him. 

Instinctually he wanted to force the issue because it was for Dean’s own good, but even as the thought came to him so did the image of Dean cringing away from his touch. Reminding him of the obvious fact, his brother wanted nothing to do with him. 

Standing there in the mists of his internal flagellation the bathroom door creaked opened. Sam held his breath and looked up expectantly. 

Dean stuck his head out before he timidly stepped out of the bathroom. Uncharacteristically shy, Dean stood there wearing the clothes Sam set aside for him: white tube socks, baggy gray sweat pants, a black tee-shirt with a plaid flannel shirt over it along with the blanket still wrapped tightly around his body like he was cold, or rather what Sam suspected, Dean’s attempt to shield himself from Sam. 

Although just seeing Dean standing there eased a fraction of Sam’s pain and silently he gave thanks that the ritual had worked.

Long minutes passed as they both stood there facing each other. Although neither of them made direct eye contact with the other still they didn’t move away.

Sam wanted to say something, the words: I’m sorry and you’re safe now; were on the tip of his tongue, but Sam had said all that before. He needed to say something else anything else, but his mind refused to supply him with any alternatives.

The impasse was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up. Nervously Sam held up his hand, silently telling Dean to stay as he rushed to the window to see who it was. Holding his breath, Sam pulled the curtain back just in time to see the driver park a car next to the impala. The passenger car’s door opened and Ellen popped out even before Bobby cut the engine. 

Exhaling in relief that it was only Bobby and Ellen in what he suspected was a rental. Sam stood and faced Dean to tell him. Suddenly it dawned on him with Bobby and Ellen here, he’d have to follow through with his promise and walk away from Dean. It was too late; his time with Dean was over. Remorse and regret colored his voice as Sam spoke, meeting Dean’s gaze for the first time since he left the bathroom. “It’s okay Dean, its only Bobby and Ellen.”

He had just said their names, when Ellen burst through the door calling out Sam’s name.

“Sam…”

Sam turned in time to see how she halted in mid-step. Bobby was at her back and immediately bumped into her. The jolt caused her to waver before Bobby caught her arm to steady and balance her before she’d actually fall, cursing as he did. “Christ woman.” 

When she didn’t respond, Bobby looked over to see what had her attention. Seeing Dean standing there, Bobby just stared in awe with wide-eyed wonder and muttered, “I’ll be damned.” 

Ellen was the first to take action and moved toward Dean. Sam could see, each step Ellen took was cautious, fighting a maternal instinct to rush over and crush Dean with a hug. Meticulously slow, Ellen instinctively knew Dean was more skittish than a new born colt.

Other than dropping the blanket Dean seemed frozen in place. 

Unable to do anything to stop it, Sam folded his arms over his chest and held on as he watched the scene unfold. 

By the time Ellen was across the room standing directly in front of Dean, Dean was looking at the floor like he wished it’d swallow him whole. Ellen for her part, gently lifted Dean’s head forcing him to look at her. Although she hadn’t seen Dean when he was comatose, she had talked to Bobby on his condition and more recently in-depth conversations, plans, on what Dean’s care would entail. Seeing the obvious life in Dean’s eyes seemed to break her as the room fill with a loud quivering exhale. The next second instinct took over and she did what she had been fighting not to do from the moment she arrived and had seen Dean standing there – she quickly engulfed him within her arms. 

Although Dean didn’t say anything, he reciprocated by returning her embrace. 

Dean’s gesture wasn’t lost on anyone, especially Bobby who moved closer awaiting his turn. 

Ellen sensed Bobby was there and seemed to understand. Reluctantly, she released Dean and moved to his side, allowing Bobby to take her place. Bobby stared at Dean. Before anyone could stop him, Bobby lifted a flask from his pocket and splashed Dean in the face with what Sam assumed was holy water as he said, “Deus.”

A look of annoyance crossed Dean’s face. He spit out the water even as Ellen demanded, “Was that necessary?”

Sam wanted to agree, but it was the first time he had seen a reasonable reaction that was so in-character of his brother. 

Bobby removed his hat, scratching his head in utter disbelief while still staring at Dean. Then he finally choked out, “Dean?” A second later he was grabbing Dean in a fierce hug, pounding his back, refusing to let go.

It was too much; Sam turned away to stare at the wall. He wanted to partake in their elation, but words his consciousness gave to Bobby’s voice replayed in his head _“Raping your own brother Sam – how can you, ever make that right?”_

Immediately the words remind him of how they got to this point, of what he did in order to save Dean. 

It was done, leaving him with nothing to take back. And the truth was he didn’t want to go back. Dean was here, free from hell and although the decision to leave will eat away at his soul, like the ritual itself Sam was determined and willing to sacrifice what he needed to do in order to keep his promise to Dean. This time it’d mean he had to walk away. 

Dropping his arms, knowing it was time, Sam moved toward the door then paused without turning around. Clearing his voice loud enough for them to hear him, Sam interrupted, “I’ll go put my things in the rental. I can take it into town and leave it locked near the bus station, or if you prefer one of you can drop me off.”

Clearly confused, Ellen asked, “What?” even as Bobby demanded roughly, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Sam didn’t answer, but quickly noted the only one who didn’t say anything was, Dean. Swallowing hard Sam blurted out, “It’s for the best.” Then he opened the door.

Ellen started, “Sam wait...” but it was Dean who interrupted her, “No, let him go.”

Sam’s step faltered at hearing Dean’s voice, but at his words, Sam only offered a terse nod as he made his way outside letting the door fall shut behind him – his heart breaking with every step.

*~*~*~*

Dean’s shoulders sank as the door closed behind Sam. Sam leaving shouldn’t have surprised him; he was the one that was deranged spreading his sickness to Sam. The fact was if Sam told him to, he’d strip right now and drop to his knees then crawl after his brother begging for his cock, to fill and fuck his slutty hole. 

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t fake!Sam. In fact, knowing it was his real brother excited Dean. Instead of feeling shame like he should, Dean actually wanted and desired his brother even more, if that was at all possible, than he had in his entire life or at any time he could remember from when he was in hell. 

His common sense said, it was enough to admit that being in the pit twisted him to believe that incest was okay, and that was what and why he was feeling the way he did. However that wasn’t the entire truth. What he was feeling for Sam right now - it was somehow more than love, more than just the idea of Sam fucking him. He loved Sam as a brother, sure, but what he was feeling for Sam went beyond family sibling love, beyond what he ever felt for Cassie or Lisa. Dean didn’t question that the love he felt was deeper, in his soul, consuming his entire being. 

Right now, without Sam he felt empty and every second he went without Sam at his side was quickly filling Dean with a painful ache. 

His breathe hitched, increasing to a hurtful spasm. Swallowing, Dean silently admitted that it didn’t matter; he deserves to pay for every sinful thought and desire he’s ever had about Sam. The plain truth is that it’s his sins that have cost him his brother.

Hanging his head in shame, Dean has a moment of clarity - Sam knows.

Bobby and Ellen had been here less than ten-fifteen minutes and Sam was all ready to leave. He was so ashamed of him, Sam couldn’t even look at him.

As much as it pains him, Dean realizes that it’s better that Sam leaves so he can no longer contaminate him with his perversions.

*~*~*~*

Behind him, Sam heard the door open followed by the raised voices between, Ellen and Bobby. Ignoring them Sam kept moving and made his way over to the car opening the trunk to throw his bag inside. Sam’s hand tightened on the hood to steady his stance as a wave of nausea suddenly hits and heightened to a sharper pain. 

After a moment, Sam inhaled and then clenched his jaw. Swallowing down the pain he slammed the trunk shut.

When he looked up Ellen was running over to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You’re not going anywhere, you hear me. Now let’s get back inside, Dean needs you.”

Although he was feeling weaker and dizzier by the second, Sam tried to untangle himself from Ellen, but she had anticipated his attempt and preempted him. Before he could change tactics Bobby was there, taking his other arm and helping her get him back inside.

Opening the door, he had expected to see Dean standing there. Instead Dean had collapsed and was on the floor, rocking and cradling his stomach. 

In a panic, Sam tried to shove Bobby away in order to go to Dean, “Dean!”

Surprisingly, although their grip tightened, neither stopped him from going toward Dean but rather they helped him get there faster, then helped him down to the floor so he could gather Dean in his arms to find out what was wrong with him. “Dean, it’s alright I’m here. What happened?”

Dean only whimpered out, “Hurts.”

To soothe him, Sam started to thread his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Shush, you’re going to be fine Dean.” Mutely Dean nodded and curled his body into Sam’s touch.

Feeling stronger, Sam looked up expecting an explanation; his eyes darted between Bobby and Ellen. “What’s going on, what happened? Could he be in pain for not eating?”

Bobby and Ellen exchanged glances. Ellen had a look of resolve and crossed her arms as she proclaimed to Bobby, “Tell them or I will.”

Gut, intuition, or Ellen’s stance, it all pointed to the simple fact that there was something else going on here besides the fact that Dean didn’t eat. Raising his voice to a razor-sharp edge, Sam hissed, “Tell us what?” Then Sam notice a crimson shade started to creep up Bobby’s neck to the tips of his ears.

Taking his hat off, he slapped it against his thigh running a hand over his head in frustration, “Balls!”

Aggravated, Bobby stood there even as Ellen turned around and pulled up a chair, snickering as she uttered “Men.” Then she took the lead before Bobby could say anything else, and faced Sam. “Alright Sam, this isn’t easy, but all of this, Dean’s pain, yours, it all has to do with the ritual you did.”

“What…”

“Don’t worry honey, it worked. You’re both safe.”

Though Ellen didn’t say it Sam heard the proverbial but, and prodded her, “But…”

She glanced back at Bobby searching his face before returning her gaze on him. “But, it did more than just pull Dean’s soul from hell.”

Sam nodded and confirmed, “It bonded and anchored his to mine, so they can’t come after him again.”

Dean bit out, “You did what?”

At Dean’s tone, Sam turned to face his brother’s anger. “I’m sorry Dean, but I had to. I couldn’t just leave you in hell – not after you sacrificed and saved my life. I promised you I’d find a way to save you and I did. But don’t worry I’ll keep my other promise too, and leave as soon as you’re feeling okay.”

Ellen’s voice broke, “You can’t Sam, you, can’t leave him. Not now, not ever. The spell you did… It does more than just anchor Dean to you. From the day Bobby told us, we’ve been researching just like you. Rafe, he’s been staying with us, he ended up finding something similar, but when he showed me I dismissed it. I didn’t think you’d…” She turned away then back and locked eyes with Sam, silently offering an apology. “I didn’t think, period.”

“When I got to Bobby’s and he told me, I immediately called Rafe. I had him focus on it to find anything that could have been missed. There are a couple of big ones. First, it won’t work with just anyone… there has to be something there already, on both sides. It never would have worked otherwise. The second, it doesn’t just anchor and settle Dean’s soul, it literally is anchored to yours. If you, either of you physically or emotionally tried to separate from the other, that pain you just felt, according to what Rafe found it’ll get worse.”

Sam exclaimed, “What?”

“I’m sorry Sam, but it’s true. Although it didn’t give any particulars, I think there’s a possibility that in time the longer you’re together, and the stronger the bond, by then you actually might be able to handle some distance apart, but for now neither of you would survive being apart.”

“Oh god, what did I do.” Sam’s heart sank at every word Ellen said, realizing too late the extent of what he had condemned his brother to. Opening his mouth, he tried to apologize, “Dean I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to force you into anything like this – I just couldn’t…” His voice trailed off to a whisper as he continued to berate himself blatantly ignoring Dean’s mumbled protest.

Bobby shouted over them, “Idjits! Didn’t you hear a damn word she said? It wouldn’t have worked if you both didn’t already feel that way toward each other.”

Bitterly Sam recited what Bobby had said when he found the ritual, “You said it was rape.”

“Yeah, considering the state Dean was in with his soul trapped in hell, it is for normal people. BUT you’re fucking Winchesters, you _ain’t_ normal! Every single one of you Winchesters scarifies themselves for the other. I’m not going to pretend to understand ‘cause the fact is I don’t. What I do know is: when I see a GODDAM miracle. Dean brought you back and you brought him back! That ritual working proves it; you’re each other’s soulmate. Who the hell am I, to argue with something that powerful?”

Silence descended in the wake of Bobby’s words. Although he closed his mouth Sam continued to openly stare at Bobby.

Ellen asked, “Sweetheart, do you understand what we’re saying?”

Sam met her gaze, slowly nodding.

“Dean, what about you, do you understand what’s going on?”

Slowly Dean sat up and drew his knees to his chest. “Sam did a ritual bonding our souls. Now we can’t be separated.”

“Yes, but remember he couldn’t do it unless you both already wanted and loved each other, like a spouse does not just as brothers.”

Sam didn’t hear Dean’s answer, but whatever he said or indicated to Ellen that he understood seem to pacify her. 

Abruptly she nodded and stood, “Good. I think we’ll leave you two alone and come back tomorrow just to check in. We’ll bring you more food and a few comforts because I think you’ll be here for a bit letting that bond settle.”

With that she leaned over to first kiss Dean’s cheek then his before straightening and walking toward the door, calling over her shoulder to Bobby, “Ready?”

Bobby nodded and put his cap back on, “Yeah.” At the door he paused, “This goes for both of you, but Sam what I said before it doesn’t matter, just know we’re still family, got it?”

Sam nodded and saw Dean was doing the same even as Bobby turned and left. Minutes later they heard a trunk open and shut then a thud resounded by the front door. Car doors opened, and the engine fired up as they left.

Dazed, Sam started to mull over everything Bobby and Ellen said.

Dean was still staring at the door, but he was the first to break the silence, his voice cracking when he spoke, “Is it true?”

“What’s that?”

Dean blinked then snickered at his obtuseness, “That you want me?”

Sam licked his lips then nervously bobbed his head allowing his bangs to fall forward. Swallowing hard, he added too loudly, “Yeah.”

Dean didn’t move or react for what seemed like an eternity. Then slowly he scooted closer until his forehead was inches from Sam’s. Frozen, Sam waited for Dean to say something. 

With each second that passed Sam’s heart started to beat louder in his chest, the level of anxiousness he felt rose with each breath, fighting a baser instinct to reach out and close the distance between them. 

Dean’s voice rose and quietly confessed, “Me too.” 

At his words, the fear Sam had been feeling started to melt away even as Dean looked up and met Sam’s gaze. 

Just hearing Dean speak, elated Sam’s spirit, but what he saw in the depth of Dean’s eyes strengthened his soul. Suddenly Sam felt giddy and lighthearted like he was soaring. The corners of his mouth stretched out and anchored there displaying all of his teeth, “You know that means I’ll have to break my promise?”

Dean straightened his back and leaned forward even as the tip of his tongue rolled out to lick his bottom lip before decisively saying, “Good!” his eyes challenging, daring Sam to contradict him as he stared him down. 

Sam’s eyes shifted drawn to the slick wetness on Dean’s lip that he broke his grin to roll his lips, imagining what Dean would taste like.

Dean snorted. Sam looked back up and was immediately captivated by the mischievous spark he saw in the depths of Dean’s magnetic green eyes. A moment later, he watched in fascination as a sprinkling of pink crept up his brother’s neck to burn bright on the outer shell of Dean’s ears. 

Under his heated gaze, Dean dipped his head but didn’t bother to hide the grin he sported. Sam quickly returned the smile then laughed out right when Dean smirked and called him, “Bitch”.

Sam closed the distance until his shoulder collided and pushed against Dean. Then he stopped to hover just inside his personal space allowing the heat that had ignited between them to simmer to a sizzling sear with each breath. 

Abruptly Dean stretched his neck up, brushing a quick kiss over his ear and pulled back, but not before leaving his mark: a wet trail over Sam’s ear. 

Sam shuddered, as shivers of want and pleasure slithered down to pool in his groin. Once he caught his breath, Sam responded with a husky, “Jerk” then reached out to cup Dean’s neck, his thumb sweeping up under Dean’s jaw guiding him to meet Sam’s gaze. Steadily Sam inched forward making his intention clear, allowing Dean plenty of time to pull back. 

Instead there was no hesitation as Dean’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, but he held his position waiting for Sam to breech the distance.

Sam closed his eyes, lips hovered a fraction above Dean’s. This close Sam greedily took in Dean’s scent and his breath before he crossed that final barrier delivering a feather-light touch of lips. He tried to focus on Dean, on how his lips were both soft and firm even as they parted invitingly. 

Sam quivered under the sweet tenderness of the kiss. Its innocence faded by the second as the kiss sparked with energy quickly shattering Sam’s control. 

It was electrifying sending jolt after jolt of pleasure throughout Sam’s body. Sam pressed harder, his tongue diving in to taste every inch of Dean as his baser instincts demanded more.

Dean complied and leaned in, lips parting as he kissed back in equal measure. Without breaking the kiss Dean wiggled closer, busily stripping off his clothes until Sam could feel flesh. But what unraveled Sam was when Dean shifted maneuvering his hands under Sam’s shirt, pressing his hands up to grip and mold against his chest. 

Kiss after kiss, Sam was dizzy in pleasure. The effects of being on the receiving end of Dean’s fevered response was more passionate than any fantasy he had created. Seconds passed into minutes until Sam felt something shift and unlock between them. It opened and went deeper. Sam felt a pull connecting him to Dean then a feeling of sinking as layer after layer lined up against Dean’s psyche like they were somehow syncing and melding together. Instinctively Sam knew the moment they did.

Slowly Sam pulled away to meet Dean’s eyes to see if Dean was feeling the same things he was. 

Dean stared back, his breath haggard, but Sam could see the truth reflected in his eyes. Their bond was tangible, the connection between them sparked, and every second that went by revealed a new layer within the bond.

Sam gasped in wonder, knowing without words Dean felt the same; there was no guilt or shame over their kiss. Whatever the ritual did besides bringing Dean back, it settled and awakened a tangible bond between them, anchoring until it was rooted into their very marrow.

He should be scared, shamed that he had done this to Dean, but even as each thought came to him it was easily dismissed. Staring into Dean’s eyes, Sam could only see the love he felt for Dean reflected back at him. Continuing to stare, Sam knew in his heart and soul Dean felt the same and he was grateful. 

Abruptly, Dean smiled and huskily asked, as he handed Sam the tube of lube, “Ready to break that promise?”

Wordlessly Sam nodded and took the lube, then reached up to cup Dean’s neck, pulling him closer, in order to reclaim his lips. It started almost lazily, and between kisses he said, “Always ready for you.” As the words left his mouth Sam dove deeper, his tongue capturing Dean’s until Dean’s only responsive was a guttural moan. One that Sam took as consent and pushed further, seeking more. 

Sam felt as if he had been standing at an abyss and easily stepped off; the bond pushing, urging him on. It quickly escalated to a fevered pitch as their bodies pushed and prodded until all he could feel was skin against skin. 

There was no finesse, only a desperate frantic need to rut. 

Needy Sam was ready; his cock hard and all set to sink into Dean’s heat. Blindly he reached out to wrap his hand around Dean’s cock. He found it hard and rigid as his own. His thumb swept over the head pleased to feel the slick wetness of pre-come. 

Dean’s voice choked as he suddenly gasped out his name, “Sam!”

Sam looked up, his smile fading. Although it was easy to see Dean panting excitedly in need, it was the look he saw in Dean’s eyes that made him pause. He was about to pull back when Dean reach out, his hand overlaid on Sam’s to keep it anchored on his cock. 

Dean licked his lips, his eyes still on Sam’s, his voice raspy as he pleaded and asked, “Talk to me Sam.”

Sam blinked in confusion and hesitated. The longer he waited; Sam saw a shadow of fear slither across Dean’s features and settle in his eyes, his entire body tightening with tension. 

Seeing the fear jolted Sam into action. Instinct took over as his mouth opened and words spilled out talking from his heart. “Shush Dean, it’s okay; you’re safe and here with me – only me.”

With every word he spoke, Dean’s reaction was immediate and his tension disappeared. Suddenly Dean grinned and jerked his hips, reminding Sam he still had a healthy grasp on Dean’s cock. 

Fingers squeezing around the girth, Sam muttered, “I want you Dean, please…”

“I want you too Sammy, fuck me, _please_ …” 

Sam’s entire body gave a jolt when he said please. Leaning in, Sam grinned, his hand rhythmically pumping Dean’s cock. Although his voice halted in raspy breaths, Sam kept talking. With every word he spoke Dean’s response heightened to lingering moans, hands that gripped hard enough to bruise, urging Sam on.

Sam cursed, his world tipping as his need spiraled beyond any fantasy. For the ritual it had been phantom Dean, a fantasy he had to create to make it work. Now his brother was alive, active, fully participating to the point of cursing Sam to _fuck him now_. 

Sam didn’t need any further encouragement although he wasn’t able to articulate anything more than _fuck_ and _Dean_ over and over. Hitching Dean’s body up, Sam’s slick fingers slid into Dean’s hole. Dean whimpered, opening his legs wider and tilting his hips, demanding, “Fuck me Sammy, fuck me!”

The bond drove them on, to a fast and dirty rut. Sam wasted no time and sank in, filling Dean until he bottomed out. There the frantic haze started to lift and he stilled. Slowly Sam opened his eyes to look down at Dean. It was to find his brother’s mouth hung open in a soundless moan with his eyes closed tight. “Dean, you okay?”

For a second Dean did nothing then slowly as if he was watching in slow motion, Dean’s mouth curved into a grin before answered, “You got to be kidding me?” then he surprised Sam by laughing out right.

Sam’s worry faded, as Dean opened his eyes. 

They sparked with life and laughter, although breathless with exhaustion, his voice carried confidence that Sam could clearly see within Dean’s gaze. “You keep stopping and I won’t be.” Even as Dean spoke, he contracted his muscles around Sam’s cock causing Sam to lose his shit as the pleasure slithered down his spine, his sacs pulling up tight. 

Sam uttered, “Fuck!”

Dean chuckled, his muscles squeezing in a vice grip. “That’s the plan Sammy. Now will you _please_ get on with it and _**fuck me**_ with that gargantuan cock of yours?”

Sam blinked, and knew he really did have his brother back. With every heartbeat that went by, it left Sam with no lingering doubts that brother or not, they were true soulmates, bonded for life. Grinning, he snapped his hips forward. This time he couldn’t stop it, it was going to be animalistic, the need to take, to have, to rut. It was something they both needed. However the next round, or the third, he planned on taking his time. Setting a rhythm, Sam stared down into Dean’s grinning face. Next time, he’ll lick, kiss and explore every inch of Dean’s body. Knowing they’d have time, a lifetime together, forever, and he couldn’t be happier.

Fin~


End file.
